


Sketches of a Stranger

by lusthees



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ambiguous/Open Ending, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, M/M, art boy kevin IM SO ORIGINAL!!, but it's def not a happy ending lol, cutie stranger jacob, idk if this is angst or not??, lichi pls let me [TIRE SCREECH] jacob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusthees/pseuds/lusthees
Summary: Kevin decided to sketch out a future with the stranger drinking green tea in the corner of the cafe.
Relationships: Bae Joonyoung | Jacob/Moon Hyungseo | Kevin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Sketches of a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and edited this in an hour and a half and this is also my first time writing for the boyz so sorry if it sucks lol

**There must be a Russian word to describe what has happened  
between us, like ostyt, which can be used  
for a cup of tea that is too hot, but after you walk to the next room,  
and return, it is too cool; or perekhotet,  
which is to want something so much over months  
and even years that when you get it, you have lost  
the desire. – Barbara Hamby**

—

_Sonder: the realization that every passerby has a life as complex as your own_

It’s not like he wasn’t _planning_ on drawing anything. He had actually been planning this trip to the coffee shop for a few days. Since the beginning of the week, Kevin’s mind was _otherworldly._ All the useful information stored in his mind was burned away to make room for the downpour of inspiration. Everywhere he went, simple things would catch his eye: the obnoxious orange apron of the poor college-aged fast-food worker, or sticky chocolate smeared over the cheek of a child. It was things like this that would strike Kevin’s mind like lightning, _begging_ for him to pick up his art supplies and create. Of course, he had other obligations to attend to. Still, he promised himself and the endless collection of imagined sketches in his mind that he’d make an effort to draw this weekend. 

Of course, the second he sat down on the cushioned stool, every single idea that had bloomed over the past days wilted away into dry, desaturated petals. Like actual wilted flowers, each idea Kevin tried revisiting disintegrated just how a browned rose petal would. His mind was left as blank as the white sheet of paper taunting him. 

Maybe the cashier put him in a bad mood. She was a pretty sour type, after all, rolling her eyes at Kevin’s order. Though, Kevin didn’t really see anything terrible about ordering a plain chai latte with a dollop of whipped cream. 

Or maybe it was the coffee shop itself. Perhaps it didn’t capture the artistic atmosphere or erratic existentialism of a sketching session. It wasn’t exactly an extremely indie, unique place specially reserved for only the most pretentious artists. It was quite literally a generic coffee shop located in the middle of downtown. 

Whatever it was, it had wholly devoured every seed of information buried inside of Kevin’s once-colorful mind. 

_It’s either I fill the page or refill my coffee cup,_ Kevin groans to himself as he reaches for another sip.

After drinking more of his latte, he swirls the white paper cup in his hand to guess how much he has left. It appears the paper cup is half-empty, but he’ll be damned if he spends _another_ $5 on overpriced drinks. Besides, he was already on this third cup. He wasn’t in the mood to finally test how much chai he could _actually_ handle (though he did conclude it was probably around five cups).

_I guess I’ll find a way to fill this damn page!_

He decides to look out the window: maybe a quick sketch of wintery scenery covering the cityscape in a blanket of snow? 

All Kevin sees when he looks out the window is white, white, and _maybe_ if he squinted, a hint of silver. He figured, like the view outside, his paper was also white, so he was pretty much done with his sketch. One last time, Kevin lets out a groan before glancing back down at the page in defeat. 

“No!” Kevin murmurs to himself as he reaches for a brush. “You did not spend $15 plus tax to leave this cafe with an empty sketchbook!”

The bell chimes, indicating someone has just entered. Kevin doesn’t look up; he continues pouting his lips and frustratedly tapping the end of his paintbrush on the blank page. He doesn’t see any of the physical features of the new customer. All he does is listen: light footsteps and the soft ruffle of chilled fingers burying themselves in a wool coat. Someone shivering before tugging their coat closer, breathing in the hot air of the room, then clearing their throat before placing their order. 

“One tea added sugar and honey.” 

_Sugar and honey,_ Kevin thinks to himself. It fitted for him. The sound of his voice alone was sweet, irresistibly golden, and smooth like caramel. All he uttered was his order, yet the stranger’s voice rang in Kevin’s ears just like the bell on the glass door.

Caramel and honey. Kevin picks up his brush, lightly dabbing the bristles into the pan of yellow paint. Maybe he could work with that.

“Sorry, what kind of tea did you want?” the cashier asks impatiently. 

The guy ordering doesn’t seem to be taken aback by the cashier’s sharp bite. Either he was a regular who had learned to put up with her cold exterior, or he was simply the type who could never get mad no matter how hard he tried. He answers just as calmly as he did before. “Green.”

Kevin finds himself dipping into the green gouache. 

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all.”

“Would you like a receipt?” the cashier says deadpanned.

A pause. Kevin notices the silence and assumes the customer is hesitating. “Sure!”

Kevin listens some more and immediately hears the crumpling of paper. It amuses Kevin. So, this complete stranger was the type to hesitantly ask for a receipt knowing _damn_ well he’d toss it seconds later. 

_What else is there to know about you, Mr. Sugar Honey Green Tea?_

Delicately, Kevin paints the first swipe of light green over his paper. Those wilted ideas are remerging and blooming even brighter than before. Forget drawing the scenery outside; Kevin was going to paint something else. 

—

_Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye_

Just as Kevin assumed, he hears “Mr. Sugar Honey Green Tea” make his way to the garbage can, likely throwing up the receipt he clearly didn’t want in the first place. 

Kevin continues painting, now picking up washes of other colors: muted reds, vivid violets, striking teals, with a dash of white for luminescence. He’s finally in the drawing mood, but he’s still listening. It’s a curious experiment, really: trying to learn everything you can about a complete stranger without even looking at them. Learning everything you can about them through the sound of their voice or the thumps of their feet against the hardwood floor. 

And somehow, finding a way to fall in love with every little detail. 

There’s still no concrete form or shape to Kevin’s sketch; it’s still mostly a messy splatter of seemingly uncoordinated color. While he did have boundless inspiration now, he was still struggling to pinpoint what _exactly_ he wanted to draw. But Kevin can make out a future in this piece somewhere. If he just looks a little deeper—

_Bump!_

Something sharp jabs Kevin in the shoulder, and when he whips his head back, he realizes it was the shoulder of _the_ customer.

“Sorry about that,” he says apologetically. “Should’ve been more careful!” He laughs lightly and hearing that caramel-like voice even closer sends chills up Kevin’s arm. For the first time since the customer entered, Kevin looks up. 

It only takes seconds for color to wash over his face as he stares into his eyes in awe. The customer looks down at him, bobbing his head to the side and giving him a soft smile. 

Seconds later, the customer breaks eye contact. “Good luck with your painting!” he says, amicably waving at Kevin before gracefully striding over to the table in the corner. Kevin immediately looks back down at the mess of watercolors and undefined brushstrokes.

He knows _exactly_ what this picture is supposed to be.

—

_Morii: the desire to capture a fleeting experience_

Kevin decided to sketch out a future with the stranger drinking green tea in the corner of the cafe. 

Does he know his name? No.

Does he know his occupation? Absolutely not.

Does he know what he looks like? Eh, the details are kinda fuzzy, considering their exchanged glance was a quick blur. But Kevin knew he was attractive. 

Kevin knew his eyes were deep and unexplored, and Kevin wanted to dive in and discover all the hidden treasure beneath his gaze. The other details may be blurry, but Kevin can picture his eyes clearly.

Does he even have the guts to ask his guy out? Oh, hell no. He was panicked, but he wasn’t going to show it. Every fleeting feeling or rush of emotion would be captured through paint and paint only. 

Does he know anything else about him besides the fact that he orders green tea with sugar and honey and throws away receipts that he asked for? No.

_But it’s enough to make him want more._

Even though his anxiety is holding him back from making a conversation with this stranger, that doesn’t stop Kevin from splattering another layer of blended hues on the slightly-wrinkled page. 

After more internal battles _(Which color went where? How? much contrast this corner should have? Should he add more texture to the piece? Why didn't he bring his pastels!)_ Kevin finally finished his sketch. He held it up towards the artificial light of the coffee shop, letting the yellow light shine on his imagined future.

It’s a simple image: blocked out strokes of flat colors combined to portray the image of two people in a coffee shop. 

On the painted page, the two people soak in the warmth and aroma of the coffee shop during the winter. They’re snuggled up by each other’s shoulders, embracing not only the moment but each other. On their wooden table are two drinks: a green tea with sugar and honey and a chai latte. Kevin doesn’t know what they’d talk about, but he’s hoping he gets the chance to find something to talk about. 

That’s the future Kevin wants with this stranger, so that’s the future he sketched out. Now, to get what he wants, all he has to do is get out of the stool, slide into the seat across the stranger, and ask him, “Well, what do you think of my painting?”

Kevin looks up, eager to get out of his seat, only to see the table in the corner is empty. 

He’s gone. He’s probably been gone for a half-hour now. 

Kevin was so busy sketching a stranger that he forgot to listen. 

He forgot to listen, which is why he didn’t even notice the bell chime as the customer opened the door and the sound of glass slamming back as he let go of the handle and didn’t look back into the coffee shop. 

—

_Anemoia: nostalgia for a time you’ve never known_

_Maybe next time,_ Kevin thinks to himself. His coffee cup is almost empty now, and even though it cost him $5 _(Christ, he needs to quit it with the lattes),_ Kevin doesn’t force himself to down the rest. Instead, he tosses the cup and its remaining liquid into the garbage. 

While there, he decides to throw another thing away. He opens his sketchbook and tears out the page he just filled. Just like how the stranger he fell in love with would crumple his receipts, Kevin crumples up the sketch and throws it in the garbage without a care. 

He carefully grips the metal handle on the glass door. A wave of nostalgia comes over him when he hears the bell chime. It washes over his entire body, like spilled watercolors over a sheet of paper. 

Sketchbook in hand, Kevin pulls the handle and leaves the cafe, reminiscent of a time that never existed.


End file.
